Author’s Note

Holiday twenty years on! This is a revised edition of the story posted in Jeb’s site last year (2000). It was published originally in two parts in Bondage Life, Volume 1, No. 4, 1979, pp. 51-54, and Volume 1, No, 5, 1979, p. 53. My new friend on the ’net is the very talented graphic artist Noir, whose Tara series in particular are a delight (found in Red’s Realm now domiciled in a pay site). Noir missed the second part of Holiday when it was first published because Bondage Life became no longer available where he was living. Reading the full story here gladdened his heart and he offered to illustrate a new edition of Holiday. In my turn, and to make amends for cutting short the second part of the original story, I temporarily set aside ‘Duck’s Egg’ and wrote a sequel for Mignon and Meg, which makes the story twice as long and twice as much fun to read. Both header and footer are by Noir. The additions to the plot are inspired by his generosity, and are dedicated to his art and to his imagination.

Header: Meg reads the manuscript of Mignon’s romantic adventure novella with evident pleasure while Mignon sits on the floor neatly bound and gagged like one of her fictional heroines, a look of astonishment in her lovely eyes.

Footer: Meg, her arms already bound, watches impassively as Ligo finishes gagging Mignon.

Expect another Mignon and Meg story some way down the track.

HOLIDAY

by Brian Sands

brian_sands@lycos.com

Mignon decided to drive to the beach house a week ahead of her friends so that she could work in solitude polishing up the mystery novel, Dark Towers, that she had almost completed. The breath of fresh salty air was such a change from the stuffy office that she parked for awhile at a curve in the road overlooking the sparkling bay. There was no movement to be seen in the cluster of holiday houses below. She scarcely noticed the large black sedan that passed her, and when she turned back to her car she did not see it draw up behind one of the more distant houses below, almost obscured by bushes.

It was already late afternoon and the sun was setting as her car descended the last hill before entering the almost deserted resort. Mignon glimpsed a light shining dully from one house away to her left, but paid it no attention. It was mid-week, Monday, and the off-season. There were perhaps others taking advantage of the solitude as was she. Maybe she would introduce herself to her neighbour in the morning.

Mignon did not immediately change into more comfortable clothes. After dumping her suitcase on the bed, she merely threw it open and walked back into the living room where she poured herself a drink. She then flung her jacket over the arm of one of the rather old-fashioned straight-backed wooden chairs, and settled down into a well-padded armchair, manuscript in lap, blue pencil in hand. She still wore her smart day clothes. Hidden or semi-hidden were sheer brown seamed stockings and suspender belt, high-heels, sheer black panties and bra. For public view she wore a clinging velvet knee-length skirt that matched her hose, a blue silk blouse, and a large pink scarf of soie de chine knotted loosely around her neck so that part of it fell wispily across her shoulders. Mignon enjoyed dressing well, but to please herself and not others. She liked the hiss of silk against silk, silk against nylon, skin against satin.

So did her heroine in the novel, who in one of the climactic scenes wore a loose fitting shirt-dress with long sleeves, a billowing skirt and wide black belt. The color of the dress was blue, of course, one of Mignon’s favorite colors.

But Mignon was wrestling with a plot problem. By the second-last chapter, her heroine had discovered the dastardly plan to poison the old lady after swindling her out of her fortune. But in her attempt to escape through a ground-floor window from the lonely old house on the cliffs, she had been captured by the evil husband and wife team. Now Mignon’s heroine lay on the floor of the attic securely gagged and bound, unable to warn the old woman, unable to free herself of her bonds. How did the girl feel? What were her thoughts as she struggled against the unbreakable ropes that held her, and languished under the thrust of the gag? Somehow Mignon did not think she was getting the mood right. Impatiently she scored over three of the lines on the page.

Mignon was interrupted in the flow of her thoughts by a light knock at the front door. When she opened it, the light from her living room revealed a pleasant-faced woman, probably in her early forties.

‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ said the woman diffidently. ‘I was taking an evening stroll and when I saw your light I thought I should be a little neighbourly. We seem to be the only people staying here this week. My name’s Meg.’

‘I’m Mignon,’ said Mignon wearily. ‘Come on in and have a coffee. I was working, but I seem to have reached an impasse. I could do with a break.’

Mignon prepared some freshly ground coffee, and as they drank she explained in answer to the woman’s question that she was a writer for a romance and mystery publishing house.

‘I’ve nearly finished my second book, but the end doesn’t seem to be working out right. You see, I’ve got my heroine in the classic predicament for a thriller, all trussed up in the attic, but I can’t seem to get into her feelings. I’ve never been tied up, although I can imagine what it might be like.’ And she showed Meg the page she had been working on. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve done any writing yourself?’

‘No,’ answered Meg slowly, ‘but I have a suggestion. Why don’t you get someone tie you up for awhile, then you’ll know what it’s like at first hand.’

‘Oh, I’ve thought of that,’ said Mignon, ‘but the only close friend I can trust is away on vacation herself for a couple of weeks. We often collaborated on story ideas together.’

‘Well, if there’s no real difficulty, I’d be glad to help. That is if you think you can trust me. I can’t very well be a thief or a kidnapper,’ Meg added laughing.

‘No,’ agreed Mignon, ‘I’m hardly kidnap material with my bank balance.’ She paused. It was an intriguing invitation. ‘Okay. Let’s do it!’

‘Fine,’ said the woman, ‘ I don’t suppose there’s any rope around here?’

Mignon rose from her armchair and searched through the cupboards. ‘There are a few pieces of sash cord here. Will they do?’ She held the lengths up for inspection.

‘They’ll do fine,’ said Meg. The older woman - Mignon was in her early thirties - crossed to Mignon, took the cords from her hand, and tested their strength speculatively. ‘How do you have your heroine in the book?’

‘Oh, hands and feet, and some rope around her body to hold her arms,’ replied Mignon.

‘Good. Well for a start how about if you lie down here on this soft rug and I’ll tie your hands and feet?’

Mignon obeyed Meg’s suggestion. As she lay on her face she pretended to be unconscious like the heroine in the story, chloroformed, her arms and hands completely limp and relaxed. Meg drew her wrists together behind her and twisted the thin sash cord several times around in a tight double knot. She then wound the remaining ends of the cord between the girl’s wrists neatly cinching the snug bindings. The circlets of cord allowed very little play and Mignon could move her fingers and wrists only slightly. Next her ankles were neatly fastened together and cinched in the same way.

Meg stood back and regarded her prisoner. Mignon lifted her head wearily, tossing her long, wavy hair out of her eyes.

‘How does it feel?’ asked Meg. ‘Circulation okay?’

‘It feels ... funny. And a little scary. The ropes are so tight.’

‘Well, in real life being tied up isn’t meant to be fun,’ said Meg lightly. ‘Now, how was your heroine gagged?’

‘Oh, she had a long scarf tied between her teeth. ‘

‘And do you have a long scarf?’

‘Yes, in my bag. I haven’t unpacked it yet.’

Meg crossed the floor to the bedroom and returned a few moments later carrying a pink chiffon scarf five feet by two feet and a large plain white scarf of heavy silk. ‘These will do nicely my dear, keep you good and quiet.’

She rolled Mignon onto her back and propped her up against the heavy sofa. The young woman watched while Meg spread out the chiffon scarf on a table. The older woman then folded the white silk scarf into a wad and rolled it up in the center of the chiffon length. In answer to the girl’s questioning look, Meg said, ‘This is a little trick I saw on TV a couple of nights ago. It works really well, I’ll make it very tight, for realism, but it shouldn’t hurt too much. Open wide.’

Mignon opened her mouth and tilted her head back as Meg reached the scarf and wad over her face. Neatly the chiffon-wrapped roll was wedged not just between Mignon’s teeth but inside her mouth so that it pressed down on her tongue. The ends of the long scarf were then drawn around to the back of her neck and a single knot tied. Carefully Meg tightened the scarf so that it pressed into the soft corners of Mignon’s mouth and her cheeks before doubling the knot. That done, she wound one end around and between the helpless girl’s jaws followed by the other end in the opposite direction. These ends were tied in a tight double knot at the back of her neck like the first. Meg walked into the bedroom again and fetched another large square silk scarf, blue this time, which she folded into a rectangle then over several times the same direction till the bandage was about three inches wide. This was now bound tightly over the prisoner’s cheeks, lips and jaws.

‘Extra muffling,’ commented Meg with a giggle.

Mignon found that with the packing between her teeth and filling her mouth she was scarcely able to move her jaws. She lifted her head and shook it from side to side, experimenting to see whether the gag could be loosened in any way. She started to say something, and with a shock realised how effectively silenced she had become. Her helplessness caused panic to rise in her throat but she fought it down. I’ve let myself in for this, she thought, so there’s nothing for it but to see it through. It was a matter of pride too. Mignon did not want Meg to see that she was becoming frightened.

‘I think you’re pretty secure now,’ said Meg. ‘However, to get the reconstruction of your story right we have to rope your arms to your body too.’ Meg referred to Mignon’s manuscript. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said to herself. Indeed Mignon was now a thoroughly mute witness to the proceedings. ‘There’s no more rope here so I’d better look for some back at my place. While I’m out you can fantasize yourself into the story. See whether you can loosen anything. Of course, when I come back I’ll tighten it.’ And she went out, carefully closing the door so that she did not lock herself out of the cottage.

Left alone, the panic began to return. Mignon felt hot and stifled and her breasts heaved with the effort to breathe through the silk imprisoning her mouth. Shaking her head had no effect in loosening the bandage which clung smoothly and taut around the planes of her face. Neither did bending her chin in towards her throat help in any way to slip the gag, as she had seen it done in the movies. And pushing with her tongue was to no avail. Eventually she learnt to breathe through her nose and the strain in her chest was lessened. Breathing became easier.

It was clear that she could do nothing about the gag. Could she loosen the bindings at her wrists? Again Mignon fought back her growing panic. If she wrenched and twisted against the cords she would only make the knots tighter and even more escape-proof. Instead, Mignon searched slowly and methodically with her fingers. But they fluttered uselessly in empty air. The knots had been tied cunningly close, in between her wrists and above the cinching well out of reach of her questing fingers. Neither were there loose ends. All the cord’s length had been used. The cords were fastened so finally tight that she was quite unable to twist her wrists about to gain any kind of purchase on the elusive knots. It was no use, and after twenty minutes of futile effort Mignon sank back with a sigh against the large sofa. Her ankles were just as firmly tied, as a few movements of her legs proved, so there was no means of freeing her legs and walking to the kitchen for a knife or something with which to cut the ropes. All the same, maybe she could wriggle across there and find something sharp on which to saw the bonds. Though she was bound hand and foot, Mignon still had considerable freedom of movement.

She had managed to work her way awkwardly halfway across the living room floor towards the kitchen, propped up on her arms and shifting her legs in caterpillar-like movements, when Mignon heard footsteps outside. It was Meg returning. When the older woman entered the room carrying several coils of clothesline over her arm she saw immediately what Mignon had been trying to do.

What she saw was a very attractive smartly dressed young woman with tousled golden-russet hair, face strained and flushed, eyes large and a little feverish from the tightness of the gag, tan coloured skirt riding clingingly along her thighs. The disappointment in Mignon’s eyes was all too apparent and Meg laughed. ‘It looks like I got back just in time. You were going somewhere? Well, these,’ and she held up the ropes in her hands, ‘will dash your hopes for you, me proud beauty.’ Meg was entering into the part too.

‘At least this is something of a game,’ Mignon thought wryly, ‘I’d hate it to be the real thing.’

Meg consulted Mignon’s manuscript. ‘You don’t say in detail how your heroine Robyn has her arms tied, so I’ll improvise.’

With that, Meg knelt down behind Mignon and set to work tying the girl’s arms above the elbows. Mignon was very fit and supple and it was possible without a great deal of effort to fasten her elbows firmly together. This was done, using all of one length of cord. Meg next wound a second length around Mignon’s body just below her breasts three times. She knotted it securely and passed the ends in a crisscross between Mignon’s breasts, and made two more windings around the young woman’s shoulders and upper chest. Her prisoner’s arms were now almost immobile, except for her forearms which still had a little room to move.

It was an easy matter to deprive the girl of even this small freedom. Meg cut a shorter length of cord, fastened a couple of twitches around Mignon’s forearms just above where her wrists were bound, and passed the ends of the cord about her waist. This was wound twice and the knot secured in the small of Mignon’s back. The final touch was to tie Mignon’s legs together with several lengths of cord turned around them just above her knees and cinched. Mignon was now utterly helpless.

Meg carefully inspected the young woman’s bonds and the gag, testing for any looseness, then she straightened up in satisfaction. ‘I’d better get back to finish my own unpacking. You’re breathing safely enough through your gag for me to leave you awhile, and this way you can really feel what you’ve made your heroine go through.’ As she moved to leave, Mignon started convulsively in her bindings, lost balance and toppled helplessly onto her side. Meg turned at the door and smiled, ‘I don’t think you’ll be moving about much. Do a bit of languishing. I’ll be back.’ It was improbable that she heard even a snatch of the thin throaty squeal of anguish which was all the sound Mignon could make.

Now that she was alone again, and rendered more thoroughly helpless, Mignon fought back tears which threatened to plunge her over the brink into hysteria. No matter how hard she tried, she could not move her arms. The gag seemed to muffle her more with each passing minute and she had to force herself to breathe steadily through her nose. Then the dam burst. She twisted and fought frantically to escape, rolling from side to side, tossing her head, her cheeks wet with tears. She whimpered, making faint muffled sounds only she could hear, for they were so soft that no-one in any other part of the cottage, let alone on the paths outside, would hear them.

Gagged as she was, it was impossible for Mignon to keep struggling in this way, and exhaustion came quickly. She passed out for a few seconds. When she came to, she felt a little calmer but her body was trembling with shock and nervous exhaustion. She lifted her head and moaned, then let her head fall back to the soft carpet. Her fingers and arms tingled from the constrictions at her elbows and wrists. Fortunately, Mignon was tied so tightly that she could cause herself little harm in her struggles, aside from some rawness in her wrists.

Slowly she began to think from the point of view of her fictional heroine Robyn, lying bound and gagged in an attic for several hours before being packed in a wicker basket and spirited away from the mansion should the old lady become suspicious and search the rooms for her. She had then been kept tied to a large heavy chair in an old cottage on the edge of the moors until rescued by the hero. Without the advent of the hero she would not have gotten free. Is this going to happen to me? thought Mignon. Is Meg going to read the rest of the chapter and then re-enact it? Mignon listened apprehensively, and it was with a stir of excitement that she heard Meg’s footsteps coming up the path. Strange. Why was she looking forward to this possibility?

The first thing Meg did when she re-entered the room was to inspect Mignon’s gag and her bonds. Appearing satisfied, she settled herself comfortably in the armchair and picked up the manuscript. Ignoring the younger woman’s struggles and stifled sounds, she began reading. After a couple of minutes Mignon settled back dejectedly against the sofa, her head lowered in subjection, waiting for Meg’s next move, half dreading, half excited as to what it might be.

Meg began to enjoy the story and became thoroughly absorbed in it. For almost an hour she browsed through the earlier chapters, picking up the main plot elements with amused cluckings of her tongue. When she reached the chapter detailing the capture and imprisonment of the heroine, she put the manuscript down a moment and looked at the trussed girl huddled a few feet away. ‘You really are a good writer. I’ll bet you could put down really well the way you’re feeling now.’

While Mignon heaved and wriggled uncomfortably in bonds which were beginning to distress her already aching limbs, Meg began reading aloud parts of the story. It was written in the first person.

That was their plan. I must get help. Quickly I ran to the old library, switched on the small desk lamp, and by its light began to wrestle with the window which looked out onto the garden. It seemed hours before the frame gave. Far too slowly, and with a squeal which I imagined must be heard throughout the house, it opened until there was room enough to climb through. I alighted in the soft soil and grass, a place overgrown with weeds and with the pungent scent of dead things in the still night. The large single gate beckoned and gratefully I stumbled towards it. Then, as I pulled frantically at the latch a shadow detached itself from the surrounding darkness so suddenly that I was totally unprepared for what happened next.

A hand holding a thick soft cloth clamped over my face, covering my mouth and nose and preventing any outcry, even if there had been anyone to hear. It tasted sickly and foolishly I took a deep, strangled breath. Too late, everything began to recede until there was darkness and a falling ... I came to slowly, and it was some time before I remembered what had happened. I was lying on something soft, smelling of must, an old mattress? Then I remembered: the old lady and my attempt to run for help, the taste of the chloroform. I had been recaptured.

With an effort I tried to sit up, but there was no response from my limbs. I was bound. Tight cord held my wrists together behind my back and also secured my ankles together. There was a tightness around my upper arms and chest where more rope had been wound.

And I was gagged. A long piece of material, which I found out later was my own satin scarf, had been wound several times between my teeth and knotted tightly at the back of my neck. I choked and struggled against it for awhile until I learnt to breathe through my nose and ease the pressure on my aching lungs. In the process I found that I could make very little noise, certainly none which could be heard outside the room.

And so Meg continued. Mignon listened, enthralled by her own words, and with her eyes closed visualized herself in that situation. It was not hard to do considering she was herself thoroughly silenced and helpless. It was growing late and Meg had almost finished the book. Surely her ordeal would be over soon. Mignon had been sitting helpless for more than two hours.

Meg pretended not to notice the thin squeals which were the only sounds Mignon could make through the expertly tied gag, and when the manuscript had been read she laid it down decisively on the low table and knelt beside her prisoner. Without a word in answer to the girl’s questioning look, Meg took from Mignon’s shoulders the wispy pink silk scarf she wore and tightly bound it over her eyes. Once again the helpless girl was left alone, but this time not for long. Within a few minutes there was the sound of a car’s tyres softly coming to rest outside the shack, and Mignon heard Meg’s re-entry. Quickly she was picked up in Meg’s arms - the woman was amazingly strong - and carried outside where she was bundled onto the back seat of the car and covered with a blanket.

Next followed about ten minutes of driving. Mignon rocked gently from side to side with every corner the vehicle took. There was a kind of excitement in the feeling. It was not too difficult to pretend that she was really being kidnapped, and she strained deliciously at her bonds.

Finally the car drew to a halt and Mignon was lifted out and carried somewhere, into another cabin she guessed, for she heard the opening and closing of a door. She was set down in a wooden chair and the bonds were removed from her wrists and arms and from around her body. But her legs remained tied, and the gag and blindfold stayed as they were. Mignon’s arms and hands tingled with the return of circulation, and she was too weak to prevent her wrists and forearms from being tied to the arm rests of the chair, even if she had wanted them free. Ropes were passed around her body and waist, fastening her upright against the straight tall back of the chair, and her ankles were tied to one of the chair legs. She could not move her body at all. The blindfold was then unfastened - a welcome relief - and again she was left alone.

The room was different and Mignon supposed it was Meg’s. She expected the older woman to re-enter any moment, but Meg did not appear. However, Mignon did not panic this time. She realized that Meg was indeed reconstructing the story, so she could expect to be released soon by Meg playing the part of the hero. In the meantime Mignon struggled and tested the bonds which held her to the chair until she had to stop, exhausted too by the hours she had spent trussed in her own cottage.

When Meg returned, Mignon was feeling strangely relaxed, warm and very feminine, her cheeks wet with tears. Meg’s face softened. She knelt beside the helpless girl and took her bound face in her hands, gently caressing her hair and temples.

‘Let’s call it a night over this play-acting, Sweetheart. I didn’t mean to hurt you or frighten you. But you wanted the reality of all this?’ Mignon nodded ruefully. ‘And once you’re tied up for real by a thief or a kidnapper, the way you’ve described so well in your book, there’s no getting out of it. It wouldn’t have been real if I went soft and let you go easily.’ Mignon nodded.

Meg untied Mignon from the chair, but immediately re-tied her arms behind her back with a chuckle at the girl’s surprised mmmph - Mignon was still neatly gagged - and carried her back out to the car. Mignon breathed the fresh salt evening air gratefully. She sat upright in the front seat of the car, strapped-in with the seat belt, while Meg drove along a scenic track which she explained to her silent companion was the circuitous tour she had taken her on earlier when she lay blindfolded on the back seat. The two women’s beach houses were in fact in adjoining blocks.

Back at Mignon’s cottage, the younger woman was set down gently on the soft rug and untied fully. Meg left the gag till last. Mignon did not attempt to remove it, waiting instead for Meg to take the initiative because she had given herself unquestioningly to the older woman for this escapade. Meg gave Mignon a soothing massage with baby oil to take the stiffness out of her limbs, and later over coffee the two women discussed the merits of Mignon’s story.

‘Was it worth while?’ asked Meg, ‘I mean, being tied up the way you were?’

The younger girl nodded. ‘I wanted desperately to be free in that first hour, but it didn’t seem to be so important after that. I’m glad you’re trustworthy. I don’t usually make mistakes with people and of course it’s not everyone I’d allow to tie me up, especially for the first time. I imagine that some really spiteful women would love to have me at their mercy. Now that I know what it really feels like to be tied-up, I’ll make some changes to that part of the story.’

‘Could you stand more of it?’ asked Meg.

‘Yes, I think so. Did you have something in mind?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Meg thoughtfully. ‘Tomorrow ...’

*

It was in fact a week later when, without knocking, Meg re-entered the doorway of Mignon’s beach cottage. She wasted no time. Mignon, engrossed in the paragraph she was crafting, was unaware of the other woman’s presence until she felt her arms seized firmly and drawn behind her. She looked up with a start, a cry rising to her lips, but when she saw Meg she relaxed and grinned.

‘I didn’t hear you come in, or I’d have started up the coffee.’

‘I’ve other things on my mind, Mignon dear,’ said Meg. She had by now snugged the younger woman’s arms well behind her back, unresisting, to nest her hands together.

‘What’s this? Oh noo,’ cried Mignon, attempting to rise.

‘Keep still if you know what’s good for you,’ warned Meg.

She wound a length of soft cotton cord about Mignon’s wrists as she spoke. In a few seconds, they were tightly bound together and Meg was fastening the last knots. With a start of realisation, Mignon found that her hands were palm to palm.

‘You’re impossible, Meg. You know it’s hopeless to stretch my fingers for these knots.’

Meg chuckled. ‘Ever heard of ligotage?’’

Mignon looked down at the older woman as she knelt to wrap her trim ankles half a dozen times with another piece of cord before cinching it between and tying it off. When Meg straightened up from her task, Mignon shifted in her chair and tested the cords at her wrists and ankles.

‘This is getting out of hand ...!’

‘... literally. You never spoke a truer word. Bound hand and foot, one of the great cliches of melodrama,’ Meg interrupted cheerfully. ‘I’ve been watching a documentary about the Norman Conquest in England, 1066 and all that. And for some reason the image drifted into my mind. Perhaps it’s the French influence in conjunction with your sweet name. You shan’t get away, you know, my lovely. You are in my clutches. Nya-ha-ha-haa.’

Meg’s evil cackle put Mignon into such hysterics of laughter that she almost fell from her chair. As a safety measure, Meg lowered her prisoner gently to the floor and stood looking down at her fondly. Mignon shook the hair out of her eyes and smiled ruefully back at her friend.

‘This is all very well, Meg. And I do know what ligotage means. So how do you expect me to write, or at least proof read, in this condition?’

‘I don’t. You’re a pretty kitten, and I’m going to have you for dinner,’ replied Meg with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘There’s one more thing before I go.’

Meg walked to the small dining room dresser, opened one of its drawers and took out a handful of snowy white table napkins. Most of these she placed on Mignon’s dining table. But she chose one, shook it out - it was a large square of fine linen - and folded it into a triangle. From a triangle the napkin became a rolled tube, and in the tube a knot was tied at the centre. Meg advanced towards Mignon.

‘Oh no. No! Not that. Not a gag. Please, prithee please, don’t gag me. I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse, I promise,’ Mignon cried, hamming it up as outrageously as Meg had done.

‘I think you’re mixing your historic periods, Cutie, drawled Meg. ‘Prithee indeed, an old sixteenth-century expression! And why should a mouse in church be quieter than any other mouse. Mice don’t have religious experiences, as far as we know. But I’ll be sure that you will now be very quiet.’

Hmm, I must look up those words in the dictionary, thought Mignon, ever the researcher. Her stray thought fled as Meg firmly inserted the smooth linen knot between her lips and bound the rest of the napkin at the back under her long auburn-gold hair. The soft material filled the front of Mignon’s mouth behind her teeth and prevented any further conversation of a two-way nature.

‘Now that I have you where I want you, I’ll inspect the dinner that is shortly to be brought over. I’m going to celebrate my birthday and a new job. So, sit tight, ha-ha, till I come back.’

With those words, Meg left the cottage.

By now the evening shadows were lengthening fast and it would soon be dark. Mignon, who had been sitting, rolled onto her side and lay in the middle of the living-room floor. She was glad that she wore comfortable black tights, flat-soled shoes (flatties), and a form-hugging patterned blouse. Although the blouse had sleeves, Mignon was relieved that Meg had not tied her arms as well. Her wrist bonds were tight, though she thought that if she wanted to badly enough she could slip her hands free though they were tied palm to palm. But Mignon did not want to escape.

Instead she closed her eyes and fantasized that she was one of her own fictional heroines, captured, bound hand and foot and gagged, and awaiting her fate. She had finished the short novel she had been working on the week before. It was really a novella in its length. And already Mignon was tapping into new ideas for another romantic thriller. Perhaps it could revolve around the search for a missing diamond. That should provide enough of a plot, and a raison d’etre for her heroine - perhaps more than one heroine - to fall into danger, be captured and bound several times, and to get free by a combination of her own resourcefulness and the assistance of allies. Yes. Some evildoers might show better qualities as the story progressed chapter by chapter. Some might even be rehabilitated by the end of the novel. But not all. There had to be an arch-villain, and a horrible henchman. What would be a fitting name for a dastardly henchman? She tried to remember odd names that she had seen as a girl when reading comics, like those of Betty and Veronica. Snidely, was that a character in one of those high school or college cartoon comics?

Mignon’s sleepy stream of consciousness was broken by the sound of Meg’s feet on the front steps and the opening of the door. When Mignon looked up she saw Meg bustling into the small kitchen, burdened by a large casserole dish in hands protected by round fluffy mittens. The older woman had changed into a long skirt of pink diaphanous cheesecloth and an Indian blouse of light blue silk. A patterned silk scarf was tied across her brow as a headband. Her costume was indicative of a one-time hippy past. A tantalising aroma assailed Mignon’s senses and the young woman began drooling uncontrollably into her gag, which soon became heavy and itchy at the corners of her mouth.

Meg looked down at her with an amused smile. ‘I see it’s already enticing your taste buds. It’s a bouillabaisse, from an old French recipe handed down by my great-aunt. She was a remarkable woman, a wonderful cook and skilled in the arts of origami and savate. But I should take the gag and these ropes off so you can appreciate the food better.’

Meg suited actions to words and in less than two minutes Mignon was sitting at the table opposite her friend. She had freshened up in the bathroom and was now ravenous. They ate in companionable silence as the sunset spread a red glow above the western ocean.

When their meal was over, they did the chore of washing up and put the plates and utensils away. Mignon poured after-dinner drinks. Port seemed appropriate as they were by the sea. While Mignon finished tidying around the dinner table, Meg stood and watched the last glow of the now hidden sun recede, pursuing the star below the horizon.

‘That’s strange,’ said Meg suddenly. ‘Come over here Kitten.’

‘What is it?’ asked Mignon, walking to Meg’s side, a wiping cloth still in her hand.

‘Down there, at the other end of the bay. There are lights and some sort of activity going on. I didn't know the cottages in that part of the resort had anyone staying in them.’

‘Probably fishermen. I believe they visit these bay resorts in the off-season.’

‘But I’m surprised I haven’t noticed until now. Anyway, to change the subject, tell me all about the plans for your next novel and I’ll talk about my new job.’

Mignon and Meg made themselves comfortable in the armchairs that were part of the younger woman’s office and, cradling their drinks in their hands, discussed various topics animatedly for the next two hours. Meg was about to rise and call it a night when there came an unexpected knock at the front door.

‘Whoever can it be at this time of night?’ asked Mignon.

Her anxiety communicated itself to Meg, who checked the whereabouts of the phone and made sure the security chain was in place on the door before switching on the lights to the porch. ‘Who is it?’ she called.

‘Sorry to trouble you,’ replied a man’s voice, muffled by the door between them, ‘but there’s been a small accident and I have no phone to dial emergency. I’m alone,’ he added.

Meg looked questioningly at Mignon. ‘It sounds reasonable,’ said Mignon, who was kind-hearted. It would explain why he’s come here so late at night.’ Mignon walked to the door and turned the handle. It opened only as far as the chain allowed.

A man stood in the circle of radiance thrown by the porch light. He looked ordinary in a dark business suit with black shiny shoes. He appeared to be in early middle age and his straight dark hair was showing signs of thinning on top.

‘I guess you can use our phone,’ said Mignon cheerfully. ‘Come in and have a coffee as well.’ There were two of them and only one of him, Mignon reasoned, so she felt confident about the stranger.

Muttering thanks profusely, and saying something about his name being Ted, the businessman walked to the phone and began punching out numbers. Mignon busied herself in the kitchen.

When she walked back into the main room, however, Mignon stood frozen to the spot at the sight that met her eyes. The first thing she noticed was that Meg was standing very still, almost like a statue. The second thing she saw was that the dark-haired man no longer held the phone. He was instead holding a small but lethal looking automatic pistol. He was also standing to one side of the room so that his view commanded the front windows near where Meg stood and the kitchen where Mignon had just been.

‘You two, stand nice and still,’ he ordered in a sibilant voice. Mignon obeyed. She started to say something but the man looked warningly at her and motioned with his pistol for her to remain silent.

They stood in that tableau for what must have been a minute. Mignon could hear the steady ticking of the kitchen clock behind her. Then there was a scraping sound outside. The man, Ted, nodded to Mignon. ‘Open it,’ he ordered tersely, indicating the door. Like an automaton, Mignon complied, and a second man stepped into the room. He too wore a dark business suit. His face was tanned and his long brown hair was fastened into a queue at the back.

‘Let me introduce my colleague,’ said Ted with feigned politeness. ‘You may call him Ligo. Neither my name or his are our real names.’

‘Wh-what do you want?’ asked Mignon, regaining her voice.

‘We don’t want anything,’ Ted replied. ‘We are taking precautionary measures for the safe completion of our scheme. Fortunately you two women are the only persons in this resort apart from us. That is of course unfortunate for you. We cannot hide in a crowd because there is none. So the other extreme has to apply. We must be the only persons here, for the next couple of days.’

‘What do you intend to do with us?’ asked Meg with a hint of defiance in her voice. Then to Mignon she said, ‘I think I know who these guys are.’ She addressed the men again. ‘You’re the gang responsible for that security van robbery two days ago. The papers said two people were involved.’

‘Smart thinking, Toots. I guess it doesn’t matter if you know that much. It will explain what we have to do next. Turn around, both of you ... Ligo, find some rope. Holiday cottages often have something used for packing ... No, don’t move or say another word ... You found some? Good. Right, ladies, arms behind your backs.’

‘Do as he says,’ Meg whispered urgently to Mignon. ‘These guys mean business. They shot and wounded one of the guards during the robbery ... Ouch! You don’t have to make it so tight!’

‘Afraid I do,’ said Ted in Meg’s ear. ‘Open your fingers. We’ll have no Houdini tricks here. Ligo, make sure your little lady relaxes her hands too, and tie them palm to palm like I’m doing with this one, or back to back, it’s all the same.’

Mignon gasped as Ligo tied a piece of cord tightly around her wrists. It was the same piece with which Meg had bound her earlier. Mignon had tossed it and her ankle bonds into the nearest cupboard. Now her captor seemed to be doing something with the ends of the cord, looping them between her hands in some way. When they tightened, causing her to straighten her back and gasp a second time, her wrists were cinched firmly together back to back. Meg’s hands were bound palm to palm.

‘Do their elbows too,’ muttered Ted. ‘That’s it. Not comfortable but it has to be done.’

Meg and Mignon were turned like marionettes so that they faced their captors.

Looking at her friend’s arms trussed tightly into the small of her back, like her own, Mignon felt very helpless and, paradoxically, alone and afraid even in Meg’s company. Meg turned to Mignon and winked reassuringly then she faced the two men.

‘You’ve tied us up, so that means you’re not going to hurt us. If you had wanted us unconscious, or dead, you would have done it already.’

‘That’s the picture. You got it first time, lady,’ said Ted.

‘But what are you going to do with us?’ asked Mignon. ‘You can’t keep us as hostages forever.’

‘That’s right, and we don’t plan to.’

‘You’ll keep us on ice till you’re ready to skip the state,’ said Meg astutely. Ted nodded. So did Ligo who seemed to be the strong silent type. ‘Okay,’ Meg squared her shoulders. ‘We’ll cooperate, not that we have much choice. So please don’t be rough with us. Being tied up is daunting enough. We’re ordinary women. You don’t have to use Japanese knots or anything.’

‘We’ll keep that in mind. But there’s something else we have to do, and that’s to keep you both quiet. You got any cloth or tape in this place?’

‘There are dressmaking silks in the sewing box in the bedroom,’ Mignon volunteered. ‘You’re going to gag us, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah. Any objections?’

‘Plenty,’ said Meg, ‘But go ahead. We can’t stop you.’

Ligo in the meantime had gone to Mignon’s bedroom. He moves quickly, Meg noted, someone to be wary of. Ligo returned with a handful of colourful silk pieces. Some were patterned. Others were gray or pink. The latter were of a lighter and finer silk appropriate for lining a skirt or a dress.

Ted took up a handful of the heavier patterned cloth. ‘Who’s first?’ he asked with an ironic grin.

‘Do my friend first,’ said Meg. She turned to Mignon, ‘Take it easy, Kitten. Let him tie it on. Don’t fight it. We’re not in a position for heroics. Just try to breathe normally through your nose. That’s it,’ she added encouragingly as Mignon reluctantly accepted the wad of material that Ted pressed into her mouth. ‘Don’t push it in too far, Ted. She doesn’t have to choke.’

When the cloth was packed into Mignon’s sweet mouth between her teeth, Ted folded a strip of the lighter material and inserted it between the young woman’s jaws before passing the ends to the back of her neck and tying them tightly.

‘Does it have to be so tight?’ asked Meg. Her brow was furrowed with concern for Mignon who was breathing heavily in incipient panic.

‘Yeah,’ answered Ted. ‘We’re no benevolent society. You next.’

Meg opened her mouth and stood quietly while the wad was inserted and tied in place with another strip of silk. She noticed that the band holding Mignon’s gag in place was pink and her own was gray, although that made no difference to the tightness of the bandaging. Both their mouths were now firmly coerced. Meg was relieved to see that Mignon was not succumbing to panic but was instead standing quietly and breathing deeply as she had been instructed. The younger woman looked to the older woman, tears glistening in her eyes. Hold on, Kitten, thought Meg. It can’t be all bad.

Ted stuffed the remaining pieces of silk into his pocket and herded Meg and Mignon towards the door. ‘Make sure the cottage is in darkness and locked,’ he ordered Ligo, ‘like no-one was staying here.’

Mignon tried to back away as Ted opened the trunk of the car but Meg took the opportunity to rub her shoulder against that of her friend. This calmed the younger woman and Mignon gave no further resistance as first herself then Meg were picked up and lowered into the gaping space. When the lid was closed with a hollow thump, engulfing them in oppressive darkness, the two women lay still together without struggling. Mignon whimpered faintly as the car began to move but she grew quiet when Meg nuzzled her bound face against hers.

The journey did not take long. It was shorter in fact than the jaunt under quite different circumstances that Mignon had experienced at Meg’s hands two weeks before. With a rapidity that left both women dazed, they were lifted out of the trunk and walked through a heavy wooden door into a kind of cellar. This beach cottage appeared to have a solid concrete base, not the blocked wooden floor of Mignon’s cottage, and the walls in which they were now enclosed were of thick stone.

‘This will be your home till we make a move,’ Ted explained to his by now weary and disoriented prisoners. ‘It’s unlikely anyone will hear you through these foundations but, like I said, we can’t take chances. Also, it’s a good idea to stop you from talking to each other. The gags you’re wearing might be worked out of your mouths if you tried hard enough, so I’ll take another step that you won’t like.’

With those words, Ted pulled the remaining strips of heavy silk from his pocket, folded them into broad bandages, covered each woman’s mouth, and jerked the ties tight at the backs of their necks before doubling the knots. Mignon saw Meg’s cheeks bulge out over the silk that was now taut around her face and knew that her own face must look the same.

‘Take it easy,’ said Ted. ‘Follow your own advice,’ he added, addressing Meg. ‘One thing more, then you’ll be left in peace, kind of.’

The man chuckled as he walked Meg to a square foundation column that stood in the middle of the cellar. ‘Sit.’ He supported Meg to the sandy floor and settled her with her back against the post.

‘Ligo, anchor the little one over against that wall.’

While Ligo the Silent worked on Mignon, Ted wound several lengths of rope around Meg’s waist and the stonework. This rope was thick, rough and scratchy, not like the cotton cords that bound the two women’s wrists. He then crossed Meg’s ankles and tied them together with another piece of the heavy rope, finishing it off by tying her legs together above the knees around her long skirt.

In the meantime, Ligo was doing the same with Mignon. He tied the young woman’s ankles, then her knees, and a short length of rope was passed from her bound wrists to a ring set in the wall behind her. Secured in this way, neither woman could wriggle across to aid the other.

Without another word, the two men left. The heavy door was shut fast. Padlocks rattled on the other side. Mignon and Meg were now bound and silent captives in the darkest cellar of the endmost cottage of the most deserted beach resort of that part of the coast.

Mignon struggled against her bonds but with no visible result. The ropes and the gag stayed in place. Meg was just as helpless. Her arms were cramped behind her against the column and the knot securing the rope about her waist was out of reach on the other side. The gags, which might have been worked loose, were sealed under the additional silk wrappings. The two women’s experimental cries for help produced only faint strangled grunts. With a sigh of frustration, Mignon slid onto her side. It was a luxury denied to Meg who had to sit upright against the pillar to which she was bound.

The two women made silent eye contact across the room, mmphing faintly in empathy with each other’s plight. Meg tried to communicate encouragement, even a little hope, by nodding her head. But Mignon only shook her head sadly and closed her eyes, fighting back tears.

Less than a minute later, Mignon opened her eyes, startled by a scraping sound. When she lifted her head and tried to identify where the sound was coming from, she saw Meg rubbing the rope up and down against the square column to which she was bound. It was difficult, and painful, for the rough coils were tight about Meg’s waist and every time she moved, the rope was not only abraded slowly against the edge of the column - which was Meg’s intention - it also abraded Meg’s body through the fine silk she was wearing.

Meg looked at Mignon and tried to say something through her gag, jerking her head at the same time towards the wall behind Mignon. But her attempts at speech were impossibly compromised. Indeed, the gags had the full effect their captors intended, preventing them from talking to each other. All the silk cloths did for both women was to stimulate drooling.

But Mignon suddenly understood that Meg was trying to point out something important about the wall behind her. She rolled onto her back as far as her bound and anchored wrists allowed and looked at the blank stone. Then it came to her. The iron ring to which the rope linked her hands was at floor level. It might be possible to edge her body to the wall so that her back was against it. And if she could reach the iron ring she might be able to undo the knot.

Mignon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes a moment later it was as though she had suddenly become blind. The small ceiling globe had been switched off from somewhere in the house and Mignon and Meg were now plunged into a frightening darkness unrelieved by any glimmer of external light. It was night outside after all.

Meg heard Mignon’s stifled cry of anguish. She herself felt suddenly hot and her heart began to pound alarmingly. It must be the same for poor Kitten, she thought. God, it has to be possible to do something about this. She continued patiently rubbing the rope against the column’s edge. It was helpful to stay occupied. The effort to saw through the rope holding her against the pillar helped to take her mind off the frightening darkness. Meg did not know it, but Mignon was coming to the same conclusion. Already her hands had sought for and found the metal bolt and she was trying to pick open the large stiff knots with her long fingernails.

The hour that followed dragged slowly, punctuated by the occasional straining of one or the other prisoner against her bonds. This is bound and gagged for real, thought Mignon. She could not believe how different it felt from her erotic adventures as Meg’s prisoner. She was shaking with delayed shock, and sweat stung her eyes. The darkness kept her on the edge of hysteria. But screaming and thrashing around would only hurt her, if she could move or make sufficient sound at all gagged and bound like this. Meg told me that being tied up for real wasn’t fun. Now I know for sure. Mignon let her head fall and closed her eyes against the dark that surrounded her. Her fingers continued to work on the unyielding knots that held her to the wall, but without much success. The rope was frayed and oily and Ligo’s knots had become almost as small and tight as the knots in fine hosiery, and just as resistant to questing fingers.

Meg’s thoughts dwelt on the question of how they would know those awful men had gone. Their present attempts to get partially free would be stymied if their captors came back to check on them. They would wind up being bound more tightly in some other way where escape would be impossible. The situation looked almost hopeless. But Meg could feel the rope around her waist beginning to weaken just a little, and she renewed her efforts and even managed to grasp the rope with one hand so that the sawing motion now had additional force.

If this doesn’t work, all we can hope, said Meg to herself, is for the cavalry to arrive.

*

In the end, it proved as simple as that. Mignon had given up working on the recalcitrant knots. She was now too exhausted from the ordeal to realise fully what was happened. Several hours after the event she woke in a warm hospital bed amid a scent of flowers. Meg told her that after her own tears and struggles - and when she had almost severed the last strands of the rope - she heard distant muffled sounds. It was as though police sirens were wailing in a busy city concourse, except that they were far away and muted by distance, and by the thick walls of the imprisoning cellar. A moment of silence was followed by what sounded like distant gunshots. A louder noise burst upon them as the heavy wooden doors were battered in by a sledgehammer, and there was a confusing kaleidoscope of blue uniforms, badges and a babble of voices. At that point Meg herself had drifted into unconsciousness out of sheer relief and the aftershock that came with it.

‘The FBI officer said that we must be the luckiest of hostage victims,’ Meg explained. ‘You know how the banks sometimes salt their notes with invisible dye so it will brand the hands of the thieves? Well this time they had a bug in one of the bags, a bleeper they followed with a tracking device. It led them here. And so they found us.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Mignon wearily. ‘I couldn’t have handled that darkness and silence much longer. I was really panicking. I didn’t know how terrifying it could be if you were tied up by the wrong people.’

‘And for the wrong reason,’ added Meg thoughtfully. ‘You know, Kitten, we should work out strategies in case anything like this happens again.’

‘Like what? Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.’

‘Ah, but that old proverb is wrong. There are plenty of exceptions in nature. And anyway, there are plenty more robbers out there. In this world how do we know when one of us might not become a real damsel in distress again, bound and gagged, in the hands of unscrupulous villains, like the characters you create in your stories.

‘I guess we don’t,’ said Mignon with a sigh.

‘No,’ said Meg, ‘But I have an interesting idea. How about we practice being tied up together, and work out ways of freeing each other.’

‘But not this week, or even next week,’ cried Mignon firmly.

‘But never say never?’

Silently Mignon nodded in assent. ›

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